


But you’re losing your words (we’re speaking in bodies)

by little_fella (na_shao)



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Daddy Kink, Desk Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 14:01:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13168443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/na_shao/pseuds/little_fella
Summary: "Come on, Newt.Of courseyou like calling me Daddy."The shades are drawn in Percival’s home office, the only light being of the desk lamp, warm and orange, pouring in, pouring everywhere around them."Not true," Newt mumbles low, chest pressed against the hardwood of Percival's desk, his  dress shirt of almost phosphorescent blue discarded in the chair nearby. "I don't."





	But you’re losing your words (we’re speaking in bodies)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kallistob](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kallistob/gifts).



> My friend [kallistob](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kallistob/pseuds/kallistob) asked for some shameless Daddy kink Gramander on tumblr.
> 
> Ehehe.
> 
> Enjoy the ride (no puns intended... or maybe?)
> 
> Crawling back to hide in the batcave.

****

 

 ****"Come on, Newt. _Of course_  you like calling me Daddy."

The shades are drawn in Percival’s home office, the only light being of the desk lamp, warm and orange, pouring in, pouring everywhere around them.

"Not true," Newt mumbles low, chest pressed against the hardwood of Percival's desk, his  dress shirt of almost phosphorescent blue discarded in the chair nearby. "I don't."

"You  _don't_ , babydoll? Don't like Daddy doing this to you?" And he pulls his fingers out of his hole, Newt a mewling mess. “Must have dreamt about the other time you asked for it, then.”

"A—hh— please, Merlin's sake— Percival,  _please_ ," Newt moans and pleads against the hard surface; he can feel his heartbeat in his throat, harsh and sharp but also pleasantly  _hurting._  " _Please—_ "

"Please  _who,_  babydoll?"

A pause. A flush. Rubies and an endless seam of squirming; the tips of his ears bright red where they’re peeking out from underneath blood-warm hair and nerves tingling with lightning and their frayed endings braided back with desire, all ten pale moons exposed on his milky back—

"Please,  _Daddy,_ ” and he has to take a breath, trying to steady himself as heat licks his cheeks and chest. “Want— your cock."

"Good boy," Percival coos, smiling pleasantly. "See how much you like it, baby. You're a mess and are coating my desk already, you sweet, sweet thing," and he swipes a finger rendered soft _(by the extended use of hand cream every day)_ and wet  _(by the obscene amount of lubricant poured)_  through the precome pooling at the head of his partner’s length; then swipes another gently along the crease in his backside, teasing between his asscheeks;  _that constant feeling of inevitability._

_Oh, the first time it happened—_

_“...dy,” escaped from Newt’s mouth in the heat of the moment at home._

_“Say that again, baby,” Percival rasped, gone and devastated, though Newt— Newt frowned, rough and flushed, before he tilted his head to the side to study Percival as if he were a chemistry problem, an uncomplete formula, a beast he wouldn’t have figured out yet._

_The fiery red light painted over pink clouds and the half-asleep sky of upcoming evening that made him think again of Theseus’ hair— except for the twist of having Newt branded his; that hair that spread along the soft lines of silk and linen as if it were a thousand branches of a tree._

_Newt simply shifted his legs and sat up in bed so he could face Percival properly, crawling a little towards the older man so their faces were only a few inches apart; and they stared at each other for a while until Newt raised his right hand bearing a purple bruise along its back (”bursting grapes on the back of your hand so you remember what we did in bed tonight, tomorrow,” Percival had grunted earlier), playing along, wind-tossed curls of bursting sunset exploding like poppies in French fields along his forehead—_

_“... You’re very predictable, Daddy,” Newt finally lets out, eyes crystal-clear and flesh as pale as snow swirling with unshed brightness._

The blunt, wet head of Percival’s hard cock nudges against his pink, gaping hole; he grabs Newt’s hips with a hand while angling his cock with the other and he slowly sinks in, sighing, delighted, at the feel of Newt’s hole stretched around his cock, and it feels like catching the first wisps of sunlight during winter, soft and warm, pushing the nagging cold away.

"Daddy," Newt whimpers weakly, voice broken and shattering like glass as Percival begins to move, long deep thrusts that wring little gasps and moans from his darling; a naked hunger. " _Daddy—_ "

He snaps his hips against Newt’s ass, his cock pressing deeper before leaning down; chest pressed against the red-haired man’s delicious back, his mouth drop open, warm and humid against his freckles-powdered lips. Percival licks his way inside it, Newt’s wet tongue touching his hungrily, and he moans soundly as his partner starts sucking greedily on his lower lip; wet and fresh; candy kisses, sullen savour, cherries in the snow. He plunders the sweet mouth thoroughly until Newt is shaking and breathless, stitched together with desire; the suture of a rose petal and althaea.

"Good boy," Percival murmurs softly against his bee-stung lips, his iron grip on Newt's hips tightening considerably _(the flesh of home)._  "You take my cock so well, baby, _so,_  so well."

Percival reaches over and combs his long fingers through the younger man’s hair in a soft touch of comfort and praise, his strands of hair autumn leaves like filaments of transparent glass being molded and touched up with heat; Newt,  _his Newt,_  exquisitely nurtured by the stars, liquid hair scented with spring and dahlias.

And this is swift darkness, a whistle among cherry trees; the way it curls around Newt’s moonlit wrists, peppered with bruises and brown flecks of shadows; the day’s first hour born on his thighs.

Percival digs his nails into the softness just beneath Newt’s hipbone, makes Newt’s cheek scrape against the slick wood of his desk; loves watching the tiny signature of fog that spills upon the surface at every push of his cock inside, at every grunt and moan leaving Newt’s lips as his partner grinds his cock against the rough wood material, dripping onto his abdomen and onto the surface with each friction and movement— and fingers spill love cleaned raw with emotions and the spit of unknown rivers.

He thrusts even faster against Newt’s sleek, slippery hole, shoving him against his desk as hard he can before sneaking a hand at his front— he smirks a little and drags his thumb across Newt’s slit, his partner sucking in a shuddering breath and holding it, waiting for anything, shudders, moans,  _orders._

Dragging his thumbs lightly over Newt’s nipples, Percival lets out a soft, pleased breath; each successive thrust gets him deeper, coating bliss under Newt’s eyelids—

It fades away like smoke _(thin, white, opaque smoke)_  as soon as the older man pulls back, robbing Newt of that white-hot pleasure; a full-body shiver runs through him when cool hands trace patterns on his heated backside.

“Daddy,” he whines, high-pitched, “ _more—_ ”

“Newt, darling,” Percival starts with a disappointed sigh, “you can do  _better_  than that.”

A groan— perspective shifts as focus clarifies.

”Daddy,  _come on,_ ” Newt grunts with a sheer amount of frustration, feelings soaking his legs  _(jelly, fragile, relenting),_  ”you can’t leave me empty like that—”

”Of course _I can,_  babydoll,” Percival murmurs razor-edged, a sharp smack of hand coming down on Newt’s ass, imprinting sweet purples and curls of blood-like wires along the pale flesh. ”Where are your manners at?” and he smooths Newt’s hair back from his forehead, soft and quiet, laid bare. “You know what to ask for, baby, and how to.”

In the meantime, Percival sponges solitude and distress away from his darling’s skin, laves it with his tongue so his body becomes a feather of lost pleasure and washed-out erotic waves, Newt’s chestnut curls an incandescent golden river enclosed in the safe space of the room. The way Percival’s eyes are drawn to the constellations on his back, the way his stomach turns at the thought that this man is his and will forever be if he accepts—

“... inside,” Newt whispers; a tide of red-hot fever coils at the back of his neck, all over the seam of his spine.

_Listen to him between dawn and twilight, listen to him beneath the mercy of stars; of morning pulled apart._

Brushing his hair back off his ear, off his throat. “ _What_  and  _where,_  baby?”

_Commanding._

His fingers trace his opening, and Newt bucks up hard against him; and god the war that it ignites, the plague of blackbirds that flies through his veins.

“ _F—fuck,_ ” and it’s a flood, a tempest, one of those oldest requests— opens his mouth and lets it come out— “inside me, Daddy, in there—”

“Manners,” Percival reminds him, low and heated; tugs sharply on his copper hair.

“ _Put your cock back inside me—_  Daddy,  _please._ ”

His thighs shake with harsh pleasure, sweet and familiar on the verge of summer, when Percival fucks back into him with all his might until he pulls apart starlight with his teeth and the scrape of fingernails.

**Author's Note:**

> You can scream at me on tumblr: angryzilla.tumblr.com
> 
> I don't bite. I promise.


End file.
